


Rather the fallen angel

by Gandalfgirl579



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Blood Drinking, Character Death, Dark, Death, Edwardian Period, F/M, Gothic, Historical, Horror, King of Scars, M/M, Murder, Polyamory, Psychological Horror, Regency, Romance, Tragic Romance, Vampires, Victorian, character resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfgirl579/pseuds/Gandalfgirl579
Summary: "Do you still love me?" Had he been human, Nikolai's eyes would have been brimming with tears. He had long since learned, though, that vampires could not cry. "Do you still love me, despite my being a monster?"A historical vampire AU revolving around Nikolai, Aleksander, and Zoya. Ranges from 1799 to the present. Be aware of the tags, and all the horrors that come with such an AU.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova & Zoya Nazyalensky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

_**London, 1799** _

"I'd like to watch the sunset with you."

It was a ridiculously romantic notion, but Nikolai smiled all the same. "We've only just gotten engaged, my dear." There was laughter in his voice, barely audible over the music of the gilded orchestra occupying the farthest corner of the ballroom. "It's hardly proper for us to be alone together."

Zoya gave him a sharp look. They had only known each other for a few weeks, but he had grown fond of that look. "A warning, Baron Lantsov," she said, pulling him by the hand out into the corridor, the sound of music and chattering and laughter fading as the massive doors closed behind them. "I may be a woman, but I'm not much of a lady."

"So I've heard." Nikolai lifted Zoya's hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. The silk of her glove was warm against his lips. He desperately wished it was her skin and not fabric, but he didn't dare say so, though he knew she would appreciate boldness. When he pulled back, he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Zoya accepted, of course, but their move to the stairwell was stopped when another couple stepped around the corner, beautiful and shining, and Nikolai spared a glance down at Zoya when her grip on his arm tightened. 

"Do you know them?" he asked as the new couple stepped closer, the man's eyes on Zoya, cold and hungry. Nikolai felt a familiar protective urge come over him. Zoya could handle herself, he was sure, but she _was his_. He would always save her, even if only from another man and his wandering eyes. "Who are they?"

Zoya didn't answer, her attention on the new arrivals, and as they finally came face-to-face, she gritted out a chilly, "Duke Morozova."

The Duke gave her an appraising look, lingering far too long. "Have you forgotten my name, Zoya?" His voice was rough with cannon smoke, his voice accented not with any English inflection, but something more Eastern. He was as foreign as Nikolai was.

"Aleksander," Zoya said, coldly polite, "this is my fiancé, Baron Nikolai Lantsov. Nikolai, this is Duke Aleksander Morozova."

Though Nikolai held out his hand for a shake, he was ignored, Aleksander instead taking Zoya's hand in his, saying, "Dance with me." When she pulled away, holding onto Nikolai's arm with both hands, Aleksander tipped his head to one side, asking, "You aren't still cross with me, are you?"

"You chose _her_ \--" Zoya jerked her chin toward the woman on Aleksander's arm-- " _over me_. Of course I am." She shot a glare at Aleksander's companion. She was his wife, Nikolai realized when he spotted the ring on her finger. To both of them, Zoya said, her voice colder than Nikolai had ever heard it, "Enjoy the party."

As Nikolai let Zoya lead him away down the hall, though her eyes stayed on Aleksander over her shoulder, he asked, "Who were those two?"

"Just an old flame and his puppet." Zoya sighed, resting her temple against the curve of Nikolai's bicep. As tiny as she was, she had no hope of reaching his shoulder. "I don't know how they would even know about this party. No one would dream of inviting them. They're not--"

"I'm sorry our being here has upset you."

Though Nikolai turned toward the source of the voice, Zoya sighed, letting her eyes slip closed. 

"My husband is... Tactless." She looked almost ashamed of him, Nikolai thought. Perhaps he really had only married her for her money. He hoped he would be a better match for Zoya than Aleksander was for the Duke's adopted daughter. "And if he catches wind of a party nearby, he considers himself obligated to attend. A Duke has obligations."

Though her nails pressed into Nikolai's arm through her gloves and his suit sleeve, Zoya turned and said, sounding sincere, "You don't need to apologize for him."

The Duchess gave a gracious nod, then looked to Nikolai. "Would you give us the room, please?"

"We were just going to get some air, actually," Zoya said, giving Nikolai's arm a squeeze before she released him. She was tense, he could tell, unwilling to go, but shoving her discomfort aside in favor of politeness. He could tell how much it pained her. "Would you like to see the sunset with me? There's a lovely view from the portico."

As she stepped away, Nikolai touched her hand for just the barest second, softly saying, "Go easy on her."

Zoya gave him a sneer for that, replying, "Do I ever go easy on anyone?"

Shaking his head and smiling as Zoya and the Countess vanished arm-in-arm around the corner, Nikolai was soon accosted by the Duke, who wasted no time in asking, "And what makes you think you're good enough for her?"

Nikolai's breath stuck in his throat for a moment, a little lump of nervousness growing until he swallowed it down. He knew a challenge when he heard one. "It doesn't matter if I think I'm good enough, nor what you think," he said. "It was arranged, and not by me."

Aleksander huffed at that. Nikolai wasn't surprised by it. "Are you implying that Sabina Nazyalensky believes some privateer from parts unknown is good enough to marry her only daughter?" Aleksander flashed his teeth. "Don't think I failed to notice that accent. Russian, I suppose?"

"Just so." Nikolai met the Duke's eyes in a challenge of his own, hazel on gray. Aleksander's eyes, he noted, were the color of London smog. Unusual. "And I'm no privateer."

"Are you not?" Though Aleksander was a fair bit shorter than Nikolai, there was something thoroughly intimidating about him. It was something to do with the stoic way he held himself. Had he been a soldier? "From what I've heard--"

The Duke's voice was cut off by a woman's scream. Nikolai didn't recognize the voice, but he did recognize its owner when she stumbled into the room, clutching at her stomach and covered in blood and deep, wet gashes, up and down her arms, her neck, her stomach, crimson soaking into the fine gold silk of her gown.

"Alina!" Aleksander was at his wife's side in an instant.

Nikolai followed, but when he moved to pass them, Alina threw her slashed arm out in front of him, saying, soft and desperate, "Don't." When Nikolai opened his mouth to argue, she said, "You don't want to see this."

He was quick to shrug her off and move around the corner-- And instantly regretted it.

The stairway leading up to the portico was drenched in blood, and from this angle, he could see a single hand elegantly draped over a stair, attached to nothing. 

Zoya's engagement ring glittered against a torn silk glove.

They were to be married in the spring.

_Spring_ , Nikolai thought, _would never come again._


	2. Chapter 2

"I heard it was some sort of animal." Sabina Garin was only half as brazen as Zoya had been, but _this_ , gossiping at her own daughter's funeral... 

Nikolai couldn't bring himself to look at her, his hands fisting at his sides, his gloves squeaking in protest. He had been hearing the gossip ever since the night of the attack, of course, but it hadn't gotten any easier, and to hear it from Zoya's own family was a slap in the face he hadn't been prepared for. The alcohol burning in his veins didn't make it any easier, either. He wasn't sure he could handle being here, but he did his best to bear it. Zoya deserved that much.

"But what sort of animal could have climbed all the way up onto the portico?" The much younger lady Sabina was gossiping with had, at least, the tact to hide her mouth behind her fan. "It had to have been a person. Do you suppose the Countess...?"

"She's _a lady_ , Dunyasha! She's not capable of such a thing!" When Liliyana shot her a warning look, Sabina cleared her throat. More softly, she said, hiding her mouth behind her gloved hand, "And I hear she's pregnant with the Duke's child!"

"So soon? They haven't even married yet!"

"It's a shame he decided to accept her offer," Sabina said, pointedly not looking at Nikolai, "or dear Zoya would still be here."

"And he didn't even have the decency to be here!" Dunyasha shook her head.

"That's enough." It Liliyana, Zoya's aunt, who shooed them away and came to stand at Nikolai's side before the fireplace, though she said nothing to him. Instead of speaking, she clapped a hand on Nikolai's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Nikolai gave her a tight smile. "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough, he knew.

"It wasn't your fault." It sounded like Liliyana didn't quite believe it. 

Nikolai shook his head. "I have medical training, Liliyana." He had learned in the Army, and though he hadn't practiced for quite some time, he had saved lives. "If I _had been there_ , maybe I could have saved her."

"She was torn to pieces." There was a tremble in Liliyana's voice that Nikolai had never heard before. He wasn't surprised. Zoya had been more than Liliyana's niece, she had practically been her daughter. Nikolai knew for a fact that Liliyana was taking her death as hard as he was, if not harder. "There was nothing anyone could have done for her."

_She_ , Nikolai thought. _Her_. Liliyana hadn't used her niece's name since the attack. Nikolai couldn't blame her. It was hard just to think about her. It was agony to think of the state in which Nikolai had last seen her. It was _excutiating_ to think he would never see her again. He swallowed the pain down to accept a handshake and a forced smile from Liliyana before he stepped away. 

It seemed the entirety of the Nazyalensky and Garin families had come to see their lost girl off, and Nikolai wove through them as best he could, finding his way into the parlor, where her corpse had been laid out in its pretty coffin, all hammered shut so no one could steal a peek at her mangled body. 

No one would dare even without the nails, though, as her huge, terrifying uncle Juris sat on the nearby chaise, elbows on his knees, hands joined in silent prayer. He looked up when Nikolai approached. His eyes, cold and silvery, were puffy and rimmed in red and sunken into sleep shadows. He said, "Baron."

Nikolai said, "Juris." He knelt before the coffin, pressing his hand to the lid. To its occupant, he whispered, " _I'm so sorry_."

"You should be."

Nikolai tensed. It wasn't Zoya's voice, as he had expected, but Juris's. "You were her fiancé. You were supposed to protect her." Juris's eyes were sharper than Nikolai had ever seen them, yet he didn't flinch away. It was true. He deserved this. "You were supposed to protect her, _and now she's dead_."

"I'm sorry," was all Nikolai could bring himself to say. He meant it. He had never been sorrier for anything in all his life. "I'm sorry, Juris, I never wanted--"

" _Leave_."

Nikolai bit his lip. His eyes were wet. His head was swimming, and from more than just grief.

"Leave, Baron." It was a command, and Nikolai had no intention of going against it. "You're no longer welcome here. I don't want to see you at the funeral, and I don't want to see you here again."

Nikolai didn't argue. He nodded, stood, and saw himself out. 

He had never been so grateful for the flask in his coat pocket. When he stopped for a drink around the side of the manor, though, he found it was already empty.

He'd have to stop at the pub instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt Ekaterina was a good name for Nikolai's mother!

"You're going out again?" His mother sounded more disappointed than angry, her brows drawn together. She sat on a lovely velvet fainting couch in the parlor, nursing a glass of red wine. "You've only just gotten home, Nikolai, Vasily and I have been terribly worried." It wasn't true, he knew.

"I won't be long." If she could lie, so could he. Nikolai couldn't even look her in the eye, turning away from her to slide his coat on. His head was still swimming. The nap he had taken after drinking himself stupid after the funeral had done little good. It took all he had to keep himself from swaying against the wall.

Sighing, Ekaterina set aside her glass and stood. "Where are you going?" Stepping closer, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. It burned like a brand, but he didn't shrug hero off. He deserved the pain. "Back to the pub?"

"To the graveyard."

There was a beat of silence before Ekaterina's grip on his shoulder weakened. Softly, she asked, "Are you allowed to go? Didn't you say her uncle wouldn't allow you?"

At last, Nikolai turned his eyes on Ekaterina, a half-hearted semi-sly grin on his lips. "Why do you think I'm going this late?" Despite his best effort, he still sounded astoundingly melancholic. 

Ekaterina was, of course, unconvinced. Gently, she turned him to face her, smoothing down his lapels and doing up the brass buttons of his coat. "Try not to let anyone see you, yeah?" She glanced up to snag his eyes with hers, blue on silver. "I'd rather you didn't give the bobbies reason to beat you again."

"I don't plan on seeing them." That, at least, was true. "I only plan on seeing her."

Though Ekaterina bit her lip, she stepped back and let him pass.

Pressing a quick kiss to Ekaterina's temple, Nikolai stepped out of the house and onto the little cobblestoned road outside. There were still a few carriages about on the darkened streets, still raucous laughter coming from the nearby pub, still the soft chatter of warehouse workers on their way home from their shifts. He envied the normalcy of them. 

Putting the thought of them out of his mind, Nikolai paced his way down the street, past the other houses, past the pubs and the bakeries and the shops, to the little cemetery at the end of the lane. 

At its rusted iron gate, he found the Duke. He was watching the graveyard with his sharp, crystalline eyes, his lower lip held tight between his teeth, his brows drawn together. His hands, gloved in exquisite leather, gripped the bars of the gate for dear life. He looked distraught, though he had no right to.

Unable to keep the animosity out of his voice, Nikolai approached him, asking, "What are you doing here?"

The Duke didn't spare him so much as a glance. "I loved her too, I'll have you know."

Nikolai felt a bit of the anger burning in him wither. Doing his best to hold onto it, he said, "Your wife--"

" _She knows_ ," Aleksander said. "Alina is a marriage of convenience."

"Why would you choose her over Zoya?" Nikolai couldn't understand it. Honestly, he had no desire to understand it. "For money? For status?"

"I shouldn't have." The Duke's gloves squeaked in protest as he gripped the bars harder. "Had I chosen Zoya, she would still be alive." Casting a last look into the graveyard, he nodded a goodbye to Nikolai and turned on his heel, his cape fluttering in a chilly breeze as he strode away down the lane.

Nikolai glared at his back for a moment before he stepped through the gate and into the yellowed grass of the cemetery, tromping his way through the dark to where he had seen the mourners gathered earlier in the day. He had only seen them from a distance, of course, through the leaded front window of the Os Alta Pub, but her grave should have been around here. All he found was empty ones.

When he knelt closer, though, in the moonlight, he found it.

The mortsafe was in shambles, the ground freshly turned and piled off to the edges of the grave itself. 

Though there was dread settling in the pit of his stomach, Nikolai pulled the silver flask from the pocket of his coat, taking a long swig from it before stowing it away again and leaning gingerly over the mouth of the grave. 

To his relief, the coffin was still there, a single black rose resting atop it. 

He was still half-drunk now, and so he was was absolutely certain he was imagining the fact that the nails were all missing.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as an Interview with the Vampire AU, but I wouldn't say it's quite that anymore. There are still some elements of it in the plot, but it's become its own beast now, and I'm super excited to share it!
> 
> The title comes from a Frankenstein quote: "I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel."
> 
> As always, I must mention that I go by [TheStarless1](http://thestarless1.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, and I'm totally open to taking questions and comments and requests and prompts there! :) Hit me up!


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